


A Little Bit More (But Not Too Much)

by Green, Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Consent Issues, Dom/sub, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John swallowed, because that should not have been sexy. He found himself breathing shallowly, the scent of Rodney -- sweat and grass and a little bit of mint, like aftershave long faded -- oddly overwhelming. "Just because I'm American military doesn't mean I haven't ... wondered," he said, struggling to try and sound normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit More (But Not Too Much)

John was used to tough situations. Stressful, confusing, think on your feet kinds of situations. He was _good_ at it, and even if it earned him black marks on his record, it was what made people take chances on him, too. He was cool and competent under pressure. It was kind of like his trademark.

So freaking out right now was probably a really bad thing for the team. It took effort, but he successfully did not glance out of the corner of his eye to silently beseech Teyla for help. He'd run his mouth to get him into this position, and he knew it; besides, she'd only raise that Spock eyebrow at him.

Beside him, Rodney was standing totally and completely still. "You want us to _what_?" he repeated.

"I thought I was pretty clear the last time. I want the three of you to go back to the gate and let me handle this alone. I think it's the only chance we might have."

Ronon was frowning, and John knew that at any moment he was going to bust out with, 'Just tell me who to shoot and let's get out of here,' but John knew this was one of those things that needed to be handled delicately. Teyla was looking doubtful, but the real problem was Rodney. John could tell by the look in his eyes that he was going to pick this as the perfect time to get stubborn and stupid.

"We're not leaving you here!" Rodney said before John could cut him off.

"It's not 'leaving me'," John explained patiently. "It's letting me handle the negotiations, alone, the way they want." Because what the aliens actually wanted was something John wasn't prepared to share. With _any_ one.

Rodney, however, had that mulish look to his lopsided mouth, arms crossed with his hands almost tucked up under his armpits. "Does anyone remember M3X-947? Just me? Well, then, let me just remind everyone of the _last_ time you told us to go away and let you handle everything, when there was -- "

"Fine!" In point of fact, Ronon didn't know about that particular planet and while John wasn't usually someone who cared about looking 'good' in front of others, that story was particularly humiliating. And Ronon was looking interested, especially when Teyla lost her annoyance in favor of a chuckle she didn't voice but was most definitely enjoying.

"Fine?"

"Yes," John snapped, yanking at Rodney's shirt front. "Fine. Teyla, Ronon, you two go back to the jumper and radio Elizabeth that Rodney and I are going to take care of this ourselves."

Predictably, this was when Rodney started to realize that maybe he hadn't wanted to volunteer. "Um, what exactly are we doing, anyway? You never did tell us what the natives -- urk!"

John grabbed Rodney by the collar and dragged him to the side. "We're dealing with some very kinky little aliens here. They're really into some theatrical sex you've probably never seen outside of really bad pornography. And believe me, it's not something you'll be able to forget when the mission's over. So if you don't have a problem with ordering me to get on my knees and letting me suck your brains out through your dick in front of a live studio audience, then be my guest. Otherwise, just get the hell out of here and let me handle this alone." Rodney's eyes went so large John actually released him, taking a step back. "Rodney? Breathe, Rodney!"

"Hmm? I ... what was that you -- you! Do you honestly think that I don't know what you're ..." Rodney's voice trailed off again, too-wide eyes frantically searching John's face for some kind of confirmation that yes, this was really true or John was about to spring the most humiliating joke of all time on him.

Apparently deciding it really was the former, Rodney swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing under suddenly flushed skin. "And you'd let me? _Colonel_?"

John narrowed his eyes and took in Rodney's reaction. It wasn't exactly what he'd expected. "It's either you or that big ugly guy over there with the scars and the feathers," he said slowly, watching as Rodney's eyes darted across the campground and back to him. "I'm willing to take one for the team, but you don't have to."

The alien really was rather impressively ugly. Rodney couldn't even look John in the face anymore, eyes tracing random patterns on the dirty ground. "Wow. Yes, well, I can provide assistance other than ... scientific. I am a part of this team, Colonel, and, um. Willing?"

He said the last word faintly, as if he himself wasn't entirely certain of his willingness. That made John uncomfortable; sex was just sex to him, and something he could take or leave, particularly with something as ugly as the guy with feathers. But Rodney was a part of the team, someone John spent time with every day and even pantomiming sex might send Rodney --

"For the ZedPM, of course," Rodney was saying, loudly enough to override John's thoughts. "Are you _listening_ to me? Here I am, proving my willingness to save all of us, and you're off daydreaming. Or did you _want_ to suck on people who don't think bathing is a necessary part of each day?"

John considered that. "You're not going to freak out?" he asked. "We could do this and you're going to be able to just ... go on with your life?" He realized he sounded a little egotistical there, but this _was_ Rodney, and it was a fair question. He wished he could stop being so noble before he talked Rodney right out of the whole thing before it ever got good.

"I reserve my right to 'freak out', as you so eloquently put it, but I promise not to do so much of it that it effects our ... relationship." Rodney looked like he was weighing possibilities in his mind one at a time. "I may not, though. You know. 'Freak out'."

That wasn't a possibility John had really entertained. It _wasn't_ , not even when he opened his mouth and said, "So if I were to ask _you_ to --”

Rodney met his gaze squarely for about ten seconds. Then he turned sunset red and managed to stutter something that was in the affirmative. _How_ affirmative John wasn't sure, though, so he figured his best bet was to take the initial role he'd, er, wanted.

"Right, fine. Come on." Grabbing Rodney's arm again, they got three steps before he was yanked back to a halt.

"Hey. If I'm going to be the one to, to _that_ , shouldn't you be a little less with the grabbing and yanking?"

John stopped and grinned widely. "What can I say? I'm a pushy bottom."

Rodney turned red again, muttering too quickly for John to make out individual words as he grabbed, yanked, and then stopped. "Where are we going, again?"

"Maybe we should tell Teyla and Ronon to meet us at the jumper in a few hours?" John suggested. "Send them off on a scouting mission in, say, the opposite direction? Or would you like to invite them to your theatrical debut?"

Rodney's mouth opened and then shut tight. He gave a jerky nod. "Scouting it is," he said.

John went ahead and did it himself, since Teyla _might_ actually listen to Rodney, but Ronon wouldn't. Both of them gave him silent, expectantly measured looks before nodding and vanishing off into the distance.

When he came back, Rodney had his arms crossed over his chest while the small female who'd explained to John what they had to do was re-explaining it to Rodney. Or at least, John assumed that what it was, considering the sour-pomegranate look on Rodney's face.

John stepped up beside Rodney, which earned him a shaft of _die, stupid, die_ glare. "Forgive my ... him," Rodney said. "He's stupid and often forgets his place. The place that is slightly _behind me_? Now, you mentioned a place for us to get, uh, refreshed and we'd like to go there. Now."

Sweat was staring to ring Rodney's collar, but John was pretty sure he was the only one close enough to notice. The little woman -- priestess? -- smiled knowingly as she led them to small hut with the ever-present dirt floor.

The animal skin serving as a door flapped closed behind them, and John grinned at Rodney. "Are you going to berate me now or do you want to wait until we're ..."

"Strip."

Rodney had that tight look around his eyes that meant he wasn't comfortable but he definitely wasn't messing around. John shrugged, not wanting to add to what was clearly a strain, not that the absolute authority in Rodney's voice -- the same as every drill sergeant he'd ever had, only with less volume and more snap -- indicated that any of this was a strain.

"Okay," John said, starting in on his boots first. "You know, Rodney, we're supposed to _fake_ it."

"I have no intention of faking anything. It's not every day I get to order my team leader around," Rodney said wistfully, and John thought maybe Rodney was getting more and more comfortable with the idea.

John wiggled his toes against the dirt floor, oddly enjoying how cool it was. He started in on his jacket and holster, not entirely certain if he wanted to be separated from his P-90 for that long. The inhabitants here _seemed_ nice enough, other than their, ahem, requests, but John wasn't interested in taking chances.

He had no idea what Rodney was thinking, but when he looked up he saw Rodney was watching. There was definitely interest in his eyes.

"You know," Rodney said, almost to himself, "it's been a while since I've done something like this."

John thought about expressing surprise that Rodney had ever _done_ something like this, then dismissed the thought. He didn't want to crush Rodney, or do anything to provoke him, since John clearly was dealing with an aspect he'd never suspected existed.

"For me, too," John admitted in a low voice.

Rodney raised his eyebrows. "Did I tell you to stop? Take it off," he said, gesturing. Yeah, he was definitely getting comfortable with the situation. "Anything in particular you like? We might as well get a little enjoyment out of this."

John's forehead went back. "A little enjoyment?" he repeated, still working at his shirt because Rodney glared and made 'don't make me come over there and help you because you really won't like it' motions with his hands. "From where I'm standing, Rodney, it looks like there's going to be a whole lot of enjoyment. At least on your end."

Despite the largish tent in Rodney’s BDUs, however, the man didn't look turned on. If anything, he looked thoughtful, crooked mouth turned downward like a Dali painting, eyes vague and very blue as he watched John strip with a distracted air. An air John was actually very familiar with, because it meant Rodney's mind was working faster than the speed of light, to mixed results.

"Yes, yes, your talents at male sex are so legendary they, oh, what's this? Haven't kicked you out yet? So that'd be limited talents, because otherwise they'd have already bypassed 'don't ask' into 'don't let the door hit your fag-ass on the way out'. I've worked for your military for almost ten years, Colonel, and outside of SGC it's not a nice place. Or even _in_ SGC; we just don't get court-martialed or fired if it's found out, here."

John was standing naked now, feeling bewildered and angry and incredibly turned on. "I can't believe _you_ are trying to tell _me_ about regs. You may have worked with the military, Rodney, but I've lived it. Made my _career_ of it. So don't think you can ..."

"Shut up," Rodney said, his voice full of command and power. It was so sexy John's cock twitched and swelled a little more.

John stopped talking and bit his lip. The "Yes, Sir" was on the tip of his tongue, but he'd be damned if he gave Rodney that satisfaction. At least, not until he'd earned it.

Rodney smirked at him, approaching with a slow, deliberate step. He'd taken off his own thigh-holster but was otherwise fully clothed as he moved right into John's personal space, head tipped back just a little to look him in the eye -- John always forgot that Rodney was a couple inches shorter.

"Don't think I'm going to forget to pester you about your sudden and completely uncharacteristic desire to give blow-jobs, Colonel," Rodney said. "You can parrot all you want about taking one for the team, but an actual straight man would've shot his dick off before offering to suck on one."

John swallowed, because that should not have been sexy. He found himself breathing shallowly, the scent of Rodney -- sweat and grass and a little bit of mint, like aftershave long faded -- oddly overwhelming. "Just because I'm American military doesn't mean I haven't ... wondered," he said, struggling to try and sound normal.

"I believe told you to shut up." The words were crisp, consonants sharp -- and it all went straight to John's groin. "In fact, you aren't to talk at all unless I tell you to. When you do respond, you'll call me Doctor or... " Rodney's smirk was not helping John's growing erection at all. "You'll think of some honorific, I'm sure. Colonel."

John swallowed again, and licked his lower lip. "Yes, sir. Doctor. Sir," he said, trying to find what fit. It was definitely _sir_ ; all his life _sir_ had been what you said to a figure in authority, from his father to his teachers to his commanding officers. He'd had problems with that authority before, always disappointed, never completely trusting.

But Rodney was different. Rodney, he trusted. And Rodney was definitely commanding, now. He'd never imagined this would be so hot, would make him tremble and want to do whatever Rodney said.

"What do you want me to ..." he began, but cut himself off, remembering he wasn't supposed to talk.

"Well, at least you realize when you're being stupid," Rodney said. He took a step back, eyes sweeping over John's body. Spend most of your life, particularly the adult years, in the military and you got over body-shyness damned quickly; having Rodney watch him, though, eyes calm and calculating like it didn't matter when it totally should have from a man who wore everything on his face like Rodney did ...

John was hard. Not just a little hard, but hard and panting lightly.

"Let's go with 'sir'. I think that's more instinctive for you. Now, I asked you a question before, and I want that answer -- do you like anything in particular, because I'd like to save being a total asshole for when I'm angry with you."

John's face and neck were hot and prickly, caused by lust and embarrassment. He hadn't dreamed it would be like this, hadn't even thought this would play out the way it was. They weren't even "on stage" yet, and John was so close to coming he thought he'd embarrass himself completely before they even left the hut.

"I ... don't know, exactly. Sir," he added, his eyes begging Rodney to understand. He wished Rodney would just take over completely, to complete the role that was making John want so much, but didn't know how to voice it. "I like what you're doing now." His admission was soft. He didn't know what was going on, what was causing him to speak like this; he felt slightly nauseated, but that was overshadowed by so much longing it barely registered.

Rodney's mouth twisted like play-doh. "You look like you're going to pass out. Maybe you are straight, after all, and just, well. Interested. Not that I can't work with that, especially since it's quite clear that you like this. You've probably wanted something like this since you found out you had to take care of a whole big city. I've read your file, Colonel; you've never been in complete control of so much as a hang-nail before this."

Abruptly enough that John jerked and made a grating noise, Rodney reached out and placed a hand against the underside of John's cock. "Answer my question, Colonel," he ordered. "Or, wait. No. Tell me what you _don't_ like. Like I said, Colonel, I'm not interested in punishing you. Yet."

John took a deep breath to steady himself. "Pain is never fun," he said wryly, but he wondered if just a little, coming from Rodney, would really be a bad thing. "And I'm not straight. Sir. As evidenced by ..." He gestured helplessly. "I've had ... feelings. Before this," he admitted slowly, cautiously.

Rodney rubbed just a little, thumb finding that perfect place right under the head, all sharp nail and hard callus. "Right. No pain, although I think that's a blatant lie, but I'll accept that you've never had anyone show you how pain can be fun. And yes, Colonel, this would be me advocating some of the dirtier aspects of sex. Please don't look so shocked."

Blinking, John could only nod, grating out a, "Sir."

"So what's off the menu?" Rodney continued, sliding his fingers around John's cock to stroke it gently. "Blow-jobs are on, obviously. Penetrative sex? Provided we have lube and time. Hmm. Frottage is always fun, but not exactly attractive for the voyeuristically-inclined."

For the first time since Rodney heard what was actually going to be required of him, he looked unsure. And that, of course, made John stifle a groan between his teeth.

John didn't think he could blush any harder, but he did. "I've never ..." He cleared his throat. "... had, um, penetrative sex," he said, using Rodney's words because the ones in his head sounded even scarier. "Can't you just ... you know. Tell me to blow you?" His voice was shaky and breathless, and Rodney still had his hand on his cock, playing with it like it was his own personal toy. John moaned softly and closed his eyes. "Sir," he added, his voice a thready whisper now.

Rodney's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, little clicking noises audible. "Um. Right. I ... I can do that, definitely I can ... can I do that now? I mean, no, obviously we have to wait for the -- okay."

John watched Rodney take a hasty step backward, feeling just a tiny bit better. This was still wrong, and terrifying, and hot in ways that made him feel weak and needy like he'd never felt before. That Rodney was finally acting like Rodney and not just the scarily calm, demanding person who'd stroked John into trembling like he hadn't in years ... well, it was reassuring.

When Rodney swallowed again and turned back into that utterly dominant figure, though, it was still hot as hell: like Rodney was putting on clothes that should've fit like crap but were somehow tailored to him. Rodney swept his eyes up and down John's body, nodding, and then stuck his head out the fur-hanging door.

"We're ready," he called.

Back inside, he glared at John. "Follow one step behind me and to the right. If I do something that hurts, or you don't like, I want you to flick your finger like this," Rodney demonstrated by bouncing the middle nail against the pad of his thumb, "and I want you to flick me if you have to. Call me 'sir', since that seems to be easiest for you, and really, the fact that this turns you on so much really should not surprise me after what I've seen of basic training. And ... " Rodney's expression shifted so rapidly that pinpointing one wasn't possible. "Just remember that we're doing this for the --the ZedPM," he said eventually. "Okay? We need the ZedPM, all of Atlantis needs it. That's all. Now let's go."

Straightening his shoulders and draping his ego around him like a cloak, Rodney pushed the fur out of the way and stepped into thin daylight. John followed obediently behind, exactly one pace behind and slightly to the right.

***

He could do this. He could totally do this. He'd had the kind of dreams that woke him up sticky and cursing and throwing himself into his work with fourteen-cups of coffee to smooth the way far too often, but that just confirmed that he could do this.

Rodney's knees were shaking as he walked out into the open.

Sheppard was still behind him, close enough that Rodney could imagine the warmth of that supple, naked body -- _he's walking around naked, why isn't he blushing or losing the erection or ashamed like he should be?_ \-- against him as Sheppard stopped when Rodney stopped. Well, that wasn't surprising since Rodney stopped in front of the dark-haired priestess-female that was smiling at them in a manner entirely too predatory.

"Well?" he demanded. He could do regal, surprisingly. Regal was easy because all it meant was pretending he was the smartest, most important person around -- and since that was truth, it wasn't so hard. It certainly seemed to impress the priestess, because she blinked, her eyes moving from Rodney to Sheppard and back again.

Yes, thanks, Rodney got that the beautiful one with muscles corded under tight, downy skin shouldn't be the one who was naked and submissive. Or, hell, maybe he was, and she was shocked they'd gotten it right.

Oh, god. Submissive John Sheppard.

Rodney swallowed heavily. He completely missed anything the priestess said, but he understood the gesture to follow so -- sneering, couldn't forget the sneer -- Rodney followed. And Sheppard followed him, perfectly obedient and Rodney could not do this.

John made a slight noise behind him, and Rodney turned to glance his way.

"I can't believe I'm about to do this," John whispered, then looked guilty. "Sorry. No talking, I know. Sir." Rodney looked down and saw the Colonel's cock twitch with the last word.

How on earth had he managed to get through boot camp if a simple 'sir' made him twitch like that?

He'd never seen this John Sheppard before. He was pretty sure no one -- including Sheppard himself -- ever had. He was needy and waiting, willing to be told what to do and Rodney knew that Sheppard had never done _that_ ever before.

It was also an incredible turn-on. John Sheppard taking names and causing shit was hot. John Sheppard willing to do all this on command was amazingly hotter.

"That's right," he said, hoping he didn't sound strangled. "No talking." He looked back at the priestess and tried to smile. "He's not a very good boy, sometimes. Aren't we supposed to be putting on a show? Vegas waits for no man?"

The references didn't seem to faze her. "This way, gentlemen." She led them into a stone building that looked architectural light years from the small hut they'd been in -- probably something created before they'd been culled too heavily, Rodney guessed.

Cool, slightly fetid air made Rodney's skin prickle as they were led through one long corridor after the other. Hangings in dull colors tried to provide some kind of atmosphere that wasn't grim, dank, and annoying, and failed pretty miserably. Rodney wasn't a fan of asymmetrical things and the attempt at art here was atrocious.

He was careful not to complain the entire time they walked. He wanted to, of course -- grim, dank, and annoying, remember? -- but he knew it would weird Sheppard out if he was silent, and weirding him out had become Rodney's mission. It was the only way he could keep his head together enough to do this.

 _This_ being having sex. With John Sheppard. In public.

He'd read SG-1 reports that read less like a porn than this, and he'd seen the unedited versions.

Sheppard seemed to read his mind. "I've read the reports, too," he whispered for Rodney's ears only. "It was part of my agreement with the SGC to come to Atlantis."

His agreement? He got to read hot SG-1 pornography that Rodney'd had to fight for as part of an _agreement_? That was _so_ unfair. Also, Sheppard was talking again.

Rodney knew he tended to over-think things, so he purposefully turned almost ninety percent of his brain off, turned around, reached out and sharply twisted a dusky-colored nipple. "I believe I said no talking. Keep this up, and believe me when I say you won't enjoy your punishment _at all_."

He wasn't going to blush. Or babble. He wasn't. He was just going to stare as Sheppard went blank-faced the way all military men could, and his cock started to leak.

 _Not blushing, not blushing, not blushing._

Sheppard swallowed audibly. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I'll do better. Sir."

Rodney felt his own cock leap. Good thing he was still clothed, at least for the moment. And speaking of: he twisted Sheppard's nipple again, opposite direction just to the right degree. "You _will_ do better, Colonel. I'm not patient enough to wait for you to remember how to behave."

That Sheppard had ever played these kinds of games was laughable -- even if he was kinky enough, and Rodney had his doubts, he never would've been the sub. Rodney, however, had played both sides of these games. He liked them both pretty equally -- and Laura Landross' claims that he didn't know how to sub were just absolutely ludicrous -- but being the dom was much better. He'd just think about _that_ , and not _who_ he was dominating.

"There's a show, right? Audience full of people waiting?" he snapped at the priestess, who had watched the entire exchange, fascinated. Her eyes were glazed slightly.

"Of course," she murmured again. "It is not much farther."

After another twenty or thirty meters of interminable grey broken up by horrible splashes of pseudo-color, the temperature finally began to warm and they found themselves in a small amphitheater.

Full of people.

The soft, milling roar of many people who were curiously anticipating the main event stopped Rodney cold just before the stitched-together furs that made up the curtain could brush against him.

He was going to make John Sheppard blow him in the middle of an amphitheater full of voyeuristic aliens. It wasn't the first -- or even the hundredth -- time he'd had that thought, but having it now with the rising murmur of voices to confirm it, made him queasy.

"I ... I should eat first? Or no, I shouldn't. Perf -- er, anxieties and okay, there's the nausea and oh, god. Oh, god."

The priestess gave them a curious look and slipped away, which Rodney was horribly grateful for because Sheppard predictably moved up close, hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Breathe, McKay," he ordered, confidence back full-bore. "Calm down. You were doing just fine before."

"Oh, yes, reassurance from the naked man I'm supposed to order to suck me off is very much working, Colonel! Also, you can call me Rodney. You're about to blow me, after all, first names should be the least of our problems."

Sheppard gave Rodney a slightly smirking, slightly glazed look. "Yes, sir," he said, and then gave him a confusing smack on the lips. "Uh, shall we?" He gestured towards the 'stage'.

Right. Performing. Rodney half-glanced down, checking that yes, his dick was suffering none of his anxieties and probably didn't even notice he was seconds from hyperventilating.

"Yes, yes, of course," Rodney said, but if anything he was leaning back towards Sheppard. "This is ... okay, isn't it?"

Sheppard's smirk wasn't visible, but Rodney could feel the way his lips pulled and stretched against his ear. "Yes, sir. It's okay. I'm almost looking forward to it. You're kind of hot when you order people around."

Rodney's mind abruptly shorted out because if Sheppard was finding that hot _now_ , then it was highly probable that he'd found it hot _before_ because Rodney was always yelling and ordering people around, and -- no. Aliens. And ZedPMs. And doing this because Sheppard was too honorable and not quite masochistic enough to allow anyone else. That was it.

"Right," he said, and, "Right. Okay."

The crowd-noise swelled slightly when Rodney stepped out, flushing to a painfully intense red as scattered applause drifted down especially when Sheppard finally stepped out -- proudly naked despite having really hairy everything. And a cock that hadn't flagged once that Rodney knew of, slightly curved up to a belly that was shiny from want.

The priestess was saying something unintelligible, lilting voice full of bell-chimes that didn't translate -- and then the lights dimmed. _Really_ dimmed, leaving them cocooned in something soft and muffling, the features of the stage -- a bed and furs on the ground -- now visible.

And suddenly it wasn't hard at all to forget about the watching audience. Because there was Sheppard, looking at him like he couldn't wait for an order -- any order -- and oh, _god_ did Rodney want that so much.

Rodney placed his hand on Sheppard's shoulder and led him over beside the bed. Rodney sat and hardened his expression.

"Turn," Rodney said, gesturing.

Sheppard obeyed, turning slowly, and Rodney reached out now and then to touch, pinch, admire, and test.

When Sheppard was facing him again, Rodney nodded. "Good. Now, tell me, who do you belong to?"

Sheppard's stomach sucked in with his breath, and he said, quietly, "You, sir."

"Louder," Rodney said, frowning.

"You. I belong to you, sir."

Rodney nodded. "Good boy." His hand ran up the inside of Sheppard's thigh, reaching to cup the heavy, drawn balls. "And these?"

"Yours," Sheppard said, his voice hitching. "Everything is yours, sir."

"This, too?" Rodney asked, taking the leaking cock in hand, looking him squarely in the eye.

"Yes, sir."

Later, Rodney would be amazed at his own audacity. Later, he'd sit and wonder if Sheppard really was that good of an actor or not. Right now, though, Rodney let himself fully settle into the role and smiled very slightly up at the man before him.

"Kneel," he ordered, not quite the barking commands of the military but no less implacable for it. Sheppard immediately slid gracefully to his knees, eyes locked on Rodney's. "Good."

Rodney found his hand was running through Sheppard's hair fondly, and he frowned a little, not knowing when he'd even moved. He brought himself back together immediately though, and smiled again. "Tell me how good you're going to be for me. Tell me how much you want this."

There was a second of hesitation, Sheppard's hair shining in the soft-focused light, and then: "I'll be good, Sir, because I want this. I want this very much, sir."

Okay, a champion dirty-talker Sheppard wasn't. But neither was there any hint of irony or sarcasm in his voice, and that made Rodney's dick harden even more.

"Unbutton my pants," Rodney said. "Take me out and stroke me."

Sheppard's hands were strong and deft, not hesitating or visibly trembling at all as they worked the buttons free. Rodney watched, not caring that the audience probably couldn't see a damned thing. Sheppard’s touch was sure, handling him the way Sheppard handled everything: with unconscious grace and control, each movement precise to the millimeter, and measured to a rhythm only he could hear.

Rodney inhaled sharply, the first shock of skin on skin robbing him -- him! -- of words. "G-good, that's -- good," he stuttered when his cock was finally freed, long fingers wrapping around him, a large, flat palm curving to offer maximum friction. Acerbically -- or at least trying to be -- Rodney reminded himself that Sheppard's skill with this wasn't surprising at all. Of course Sheppard jacked off, probably three or four times a day even though he was well into his thirties, so ... skills. Necessary. Oh god.

"Use your tongue first," Rodney said, and wondered how his voice managed to stay so in control when Sheppard was doing _that_ , looking up at him like _that_ , like he'd be willing to do anything if Rodney just ordered it.

Rodney jerked when Sheppard bent down, hair brushing Rodney’s stomach, to lick a thick, broad stroke from the base of his dick to the tip of it. It wasn't really a good kind of lick, although -- hot, wet, _oh, my god, **Sheppard**_ \-- it certainly felt it. It was ... testing Rodney decided when Sheppard did the same thing to the other side of his cock.

But then, oh, _then_ Sheppard put his hand back, running smoother over the slickened flesh while his lips and tongue pressed delicately to the very tip of Rodney's cock.

He made a mental note to ask just how many blow-jobs a United States Air Force officer had ever given.

Rodney opened his mouth, a noise free of any consonants escaping. "I mean! Other hand behind your back, Colonel."

There was a twinkle in Sheppard's eyes that made Rodney extremely curious and made it hard for him to concentrate on staying true to his role.

"Yes, sir," Sheppard said, his left arm moving immediately into place as Rodney had ordered.

"Now, take me in your mouth."

For a moment, Sheppard's eyes met his and Rodney couldn't breathe. Sheppard was _seeing_ him, watching him with a knowing frankness that was so trusting, so non-judgmental and _hot_ \--

Except the _hot_ might have been the way Sheppard's mouth was inching down the length of his cock, his tongue moving in experimental ways that had Rodney revising his original opinion. No, Sheppard hadn't ever done this before -- but he'd had a lot of blow-jobs by very talented people and he'd thought about it plenty. Possibly even with Rodney, which was totally Rodney's ego talking except Sheppard had about half of Rodney's cock in his mouth and he was _moaning._

He couldn't possibly be _that_ good an actor, right?

Rodney swallowed, suddenly noticing that there was warm, smooth skin under his left hand -- Sheppard's shoulder -- while his other hand was cupping the back of his head, fingers buried in messy hair that felt cool and soft. "Slowly," Rodney said. "It's not going anywhere."

And god, there was that look again, and if Rodney wasn't in his thirties and experienced enough to control himself, he'd be coming already.

Sheppard slowed, backing off a little, swirling his tongue around the head of Rodney's cock, pressing up right _there_ , then taking him slowly inside again.

The mouth was so hot, so greedy, but Sheppard did exactly as Rodney said and continued to go slow.

"You wish I'd just fuck your throat, don't you?" Rodney murmured. "You wish I'd just take you completely." Sheppard's eyes got hotter and Rodney continued. "You wish I was fucking your ass, don't you?"

Sheppard moaned around his cock, the sensation almost too much for Rodney to bear. He was so close, wanting this so badly, but he knew he had to pace himself. Sheppard's eyes were open, staring at him with pure lust, which was startling. Rodney cupped Sheppard's neck, thumb rubbing over the place where nape met the clipped end of hair.

"But you haven't earned it. I know how much you want it. You _need_ it, don't you?" Rodney asked, his voice almost breaking. He could feel the sweat trickling down the sides of his face. "It'd be too much of a treat for you, getting fucked and owned so quickly."

A softly swelling murmur of voices crashed over them, reminding Rodney that this cocoon of shadows and sex wasn't just the two of them. They were being watched while he had sex. Watched while he slipped into the dirty-talk he could never really avoid, especially during these games, and speaking those things to Sheppard.

Almost, _almost_ Rodney broke character -- but Sheppard just gave him a half-amused look, so easy to translate into _you never, ever stop talking, do you?_ , and then Sheppard's tongue was dipping underneath foreskin in a move there was no way Sheppard could know, since he was American and therefore cut.

Rodney clutched the back of Sheppard's head, enjoying the way that made those dark eyes widen. "Did I say you could do that?" he asked, trying to make his voice silky. It didn't work, but the attempt was probably noted. "Because I think somebody just might want to be punished."

And _damn_ , Sheppard immediately groaned like he was coming.

How the hell was Rodney supposed let go of this?

He pushed that thought away, hard, because he knew he'd obsess otherwise. ZedPMs. Helping out the mission. Doing this for others. Okay, getting his cock sucked wasn't really an 'others' kind of thing, but Rodney was slowly discovering that he liked being a reliable teammate, and that meant a certain lack of selfishness.

Looking down into Sheppard's eyes -- confused, now, and starting to take on that _one of mine is in trouble_ cast -- Rodney smirked as evilly as he knew how. "Is that what you want?" he asked, deliberately making the words mocking -- not sharp, just mocking -- while rubbing the back of Sheppard's head. "Do you want to be punished?"

Sheppard's eyes dropped, calmer again, and he nodded, curtly.

Okay. Yes, okay, so ... punishments. There could be spanking, and oh, _hell_ , there went that control Rodney really needed to work on, but as his eyes frantically swept their small area he noticed a tiny table next to the bed. One Rodney was pretty sure hadn't been there before. On it lay several possible punishment choices.

Rodney decided thinking about hows and whys right then would only make him crazy, so he busied himself by pushing Sheppard off his dick and made him stand up. Picking up two or three different toys, he held them so that Sheppard and the audience could see. "So? What do you think you deserve?"

Sheppard's cock was bobbing with each slow, measured breath, the only thing that showed just how agitated he really was. "I -- I don't deserve to come, sir."

Closing his eyes for only a second, Rodney discard the soft flogger and the hard, rubbery-looking plug and tried very hard to will his hands steady as he forced Sheppard into a cock-ring. It was tight, and it probably hurt, but nothing in Sheppard's face showed pain -- just overwhelming pleasure and a sense of _yes, like that, please_.

"You may not deserve it, but _I_ do,” Rodney said mildly. “Tell me how much you want to make me come. Tell me what you want to do." He wasn't kidding, was totally serious, even though the thought of Sheppard wanting this took him to crazy, unexpected places. Maybe he shouldn't have said it. Maybe he was pushing this, pushing _Sheppard_ a little too hard. But he needed the reassurance, too. Needed to know that even though he appeared to be in total control, Sheppard was only getting what he wanted.

Sheppard didn't smirk at him, but his hair twitched and Rodney knew that in other circumstances, he'd be smirking and probably saying drawling, sarcastic things to Rodney.

He didn't, though. He took a step forward, cock bobbing red against the silver-black of the ring, and went down on his knees again. "I want to suck you, sir. I want to run my mouth all over you, warm and heavy, my hands on your skin. Right here." Sheppard nodded to the inside of Rodney's thigh, eyes locked on a shadowed crease that always made Rodney jerk and moan and there was no way in hell Sheppard could have known about that. "Can I touch you there, sir?"

Rodney just barely managed, "Yes," before there was a blunt, cool nose against sensitive skin, and then soft lips, and a hot mouth sucking _right there_. Sheppard kept his hands behind his back, military perfect, body bent forward so that his muscles stretched and moved as Rodney stared down. He was a goddamned work of _art_ and he was sucking on Rodney thigh.

"Fuck," Rodney whispered. Then louder, "That's good. God, yes. You're being so good." He knew he was babbling, had to clench his jaw to stop before he embarrassed himself even more thoroughly than he already had. Sheppard paused for just a moment, enough time to glance up at him, and his eyes were burning with intensity.

Rodney clenched his hands at his sides, knowing the moment his nails stopped pricking his palms he'd want to haul Sheppard up to his face and kiss him. Rodney liked kissing. It was messy and gross and involved a certain level of intimacy he sucked at, but he loved it. He was good at it. And it was the last thing Sheppard could want, precisely because of that.

"Here, sir?" Sheppard pulled back only when the faint hints of what would be a spectacular bruise were already visible. His mouth ghosted against Rodney's balls, breath warm and wet. "May I touch you here, sir?"

"Yes, get on with it." The words snapped out of him, tight with denial and anticipation in equal and totally resistant measure.

Sheppard's reaction was -- well, it was something Rodney couldn't quite read. It looked almost hurt. Like he'd wounded him just a little by being so abrasive. But no, that was just Rodney's imagination, because anything more was impossible. Even though Sheppard was treating his body like it was made to be worshiped.

Rodney set the whole line of thinking aside, because, _unthinkable, not thinking about it._ Just in case, though, he let his hand run through Sheppard's hair, just once, and then he was back to his role.

Which was good since Sheppard chose that moment to bite him. It wasn't that hard, just a cool sliver of teeth nipping against his scrotum -- _ow ow ow!_ \-- but only Rodney's reliance on being the cool, collected dom stopped him from yelling.

Oh, he was _so_ going to make Sheppard regret that.

"Suck them," he ordered. "Let's see if you can fit both at once." Yeah, okay, he might've sounded just a little bit breathless and dark, but Sheppard moaned again, vibrations making the hair on Rodney's forearms stand up, and obediently tried to suck first one, and then both of Rodney's balls into his mouth. He couldn't quite manage it, but he was incredibly focused on trying, making soft _mmph_ sounds of concentration.

Yeah, there was no way Rodney could stand up to that.

"Okay, enough." He wanted to bark the order, but it came out strained and highly turned on. Shoving lightly at Sheppard's shoulder, Rodney backed him up enough that he could place the tip of his cock against Sheppard's mouth. He tried to communicate _tell me if I'm hurting you_ with his eyes, while his mouth said, "Blow me."

His dick slowly disappearing into Sheppard's mouth was an image that would haunt his dreams forever.

Sheppard was trying. That was very clear from the enthusiastic bobbing and the sounds of enjoyment and the surreptitious check with Rodney's toe that yes, Sheppard was still hard and wanting. But he was almost _too_ enthusiastic and okay, this was a little cruel, but Rodney still had to punish him for that nip, right?

Carefully, he cupped Sheppard's head in his hands and changed the pace, changed the angle, and began thrusting himself into Sheppard's mouth. It wasn't quite face-fucking -- the way Rodney was not fantasizing about, oh no -- since Rodney was careful not to go too deep. But it was definitely him doing all the work now, sliding over covered teeth and a slick, moving tongue to press as far back as he felt would be allowed. He was panting now, probably turning red and huffing in ways that were thoroughly unattractive as he fucked.

Except, when he glanced down, Sheppard wasn't looking at him like he couldn't wait for this to be over. He actually wasn't looking at Rodney at all, head tipped back and relaxed in Rodney's hands, eyes closed with an expression that looked blissfully ecstatic.

Oh god. "I'm -- "

Sheppard's eyes snapped open and caught Rodney's, reading the warning there. At this point, Rodney fully expected him to back off and the thought of jacking himself to completion on Sheppard's chest -- or, god, face -- held a lot of appeal. But he didn't. If anything he worked himself in tandem to Rodney's thrusts, determinedly sucking on Rodney's cock as he closed a hand around the base, jacking the parts of Rodney that his mouth wasn't sucking on.

Rodney figured it out the moment he saw Sheppard's throat move, swallowing everything he spilled out, and that made him jerk all over again because _fuck_.

Sheppard made a humming sound as he slid off Rodney's cock, licking his lips the way little kids would lick to find more of the chocolate or candy they were eating. It was adorable, if sexy was adorable, and before Rodney knew it, he was leaning down so he could lick at Sheppard's mouth -- just the corner, where a tiny drop remained.

He could feel it when Sheppard inhaled, cold swarming up where warm breath had been a moment before. It was the kind of thing that should have him babbling -- usually the absolute wrong thing -- but today, _today_ was going to be different. Today, Rodney wasn't going to ruin the moment, he was going to move his mouth to Sheppard's ear where no one but the two of them could hear and whisper: "Good boy."

And then he was up, gesturing at the watching alien population and demanding they hand over the ZedPM and Colonel Sheppard's abandoned clothes so they could get out of there. It wasn't fear that motivated him, precisely, although it was a useful emotion because he was at his most cutting when he was frightened and it certainly made the aliens obey with gratifying speed and cowering. No, it was something else that kept Rodney's attention totally on the ZedPM when it arrived -- red-gold and glowing like the work of art it was -- ignoring when Sheppard got dressed and held a short negotiation with the priestess when she returned. It wasn't important, it didn't require Rodney's involvement since Sheppard could charm his way out of a paper bag, and the more minutes Rodney had to not look at him, the better.

It wasn't like Rodney hadn't slept with the wrong person before, but this wasn't personal. It was all about doing what they had to for the mission, nothing else.

Really.

Rodney tried very hard to ignore the comments and accolades they received as they were escorted back to the puddle jumper. He didn't need to know how well he had made the proud military commander submit, thank you, and he was walking so fast he was almost running by the time the sleek, grey jumper came into view. Ronon and Teyla were seated outside, basking in the sunlight, looking like they were about to stage a rescue just so they could have something to do.

"Colonel Sheppard." Teyla bounced to her feet when he was in view, her face carefully blank to hide her anxiousness. She thought she was fooling people, but Rodney knew better now; Sheppard was her personal leader, and him only. "Is everything well?"

"Yes, it's fine," Rodney answered because he really, truly didn't want to hear Sheppard's response. The mission report for this was going to be so much fun. "We got the ZedPM, and now I'd like to go home now, so chop chop."

Rodney carefully avoided Sheppard's eyes, avoided him completely as he sat in the rear of the puddlejumper. Sheppard flew the team right through the gate, not saying a word, and Rodney held onto the ZedPM like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.

***

John shifted uncomfortably as they neared the gate. "Rodney, punch in the code."

The expected 'what? you do it' never materialized. John was sure that alerted Teyla and Ronon that maybe Rodney's oddly sullen silence was not, in fact, telepathic communion with the ZPM cradled in his lap but something else entirely -- particularly when Rodney twitched all over, like a horse shivering to remove a fly, and efficiently punched in the gate-chevrons and then his own IDC.

"Welcome back, Colonel Sheppard," he heard Elizabeth's voice over the radio. "You're earlier than expected."

"And bearing gifts," he answered, unable to be just a _little_ smug. They had a ZPM. A real, mostly-full ZPM sitting in the same lap John had had his face buried in not twenty minutes before. "I think we're going to lose McKay and the rest of the science team for a while."

He meant it as a joke -- hell, he was smiling as he said it, ready to glance over to share the smug little triumphant grins they should have been sporting -- but Rodney gave him an absolutely stricken look, immediately covered over with the kind of blank nothingness that he always attempted during their poker games.

Not an attempt this time. John couldn't figure out anything going on behind shuttered blue eyes and a down-turned mouth.

"Congratulations." Elizabeth's voice was vibrating with relief and pleasure, though her tone was as forcefully even as ever. "Welcome home, everyone."

Teyla and Ronon exited the jumper, and John was going to, until he noticed that Rodney was still sitting in the cargo hold, holding the ZPM tightly.

"McKay?" he asked, then more softly, "Rodney?"

"This is the holy grail of science, Colonel, and I'd like a moment with it before the ravening hordes come to tear it to pieces. This is ... this is beautiful, Colonel. And the only one who can properly appreciate its beauty is me. Maybe Zelenka, on his best day, and Simpson will help -- but it's mostly me, and my genius that'll do things with this baby while everyone else just attempts to break it."

John would probably have believed he really meant all that if Rodney hadn't glanced out of the corner of his eye.

"True enough," John said. He could hear Ronon and Teyla speaking excitedly with Elizabeth and hoped they'd stay occupied for a while. "And the reason you're attempting to snap your way out of this is -- "

"I am not snapping," Rodney snapped. "I am stating a verifiable fact since I work with incompetent morons who never should've been allowed _in_ grad school let alone graduating from top ones and -- and -- "

And Rodney was staring at his crotch. John looked down, realizing that he was yes, still very hard. Still in the ring from before, actually, and that thought prompted a wave of heat down his back. Before had been ...

John swallowed the lump in his throat and felt the heat creep up his neck and flush his face.

"I ..." he began, but realized he had no idea what to say. He wanted to tell Rodney the truth, that he was so fucking hard because of _him_ , but he didn't know how to say it without alienating Rodney even more than he probably already had.

"Yes, you _what_ , Colonel?" The frequent repetition of his title was significant, of course, but Rodney was speaking so quickly there was no way butt in and make a comment. "Except of course this isn't you, it's me. I -- " Abruptly flushing, Rodney looked at the floor. His hands were trembling with the need to wave and flail against the air the way they always did. Usually, anyway. "I should go. So you can ... remove it."

So Rodney remembered why, exactly, John was still hard. Did he remember how it had felt to slip the cock ring on? John remembered. He couldn't forget the blunt fingers with their surprisingly deft agility, handling him in a way that even now made his cock pulse. It had felt good, being pushed and prodded and ordered around. Good in ways John wasn't supposed to appreciate afterwards.

John swallowed, taking a single step closer. "You don't have to."

"Don't have to what, remove it? Please, Colonel, despite the myriad of pornography you've probably seen, a man can't have a ring as tightly as I put one on you for that long. There are defense mechanisms, things the body does to ensure there's no permanent damage -- and why are you looking at me like that? I thought we were just going to forget about this and stick to snide remarks only I can understand."

John had no idea what his own expression was, but Rodney's terrified anticipation was nice to look at. _He_ was nice to look at, something that came as a shock to John -- he was usually on the shallow side when it came to his conquests. Not picky, precisely, but ... close. Rodney defied any type or expectation John had ever crafted for himself and oddly, that was good, too.

He took another step forward. "Sir?"

Rodney's eyes narrowed, then widened, and then narrowed again. It would have been funny if John hadn't been so unsure. Then Rodney gave his chin a lift and spoke tightly.

"Yes?"

Better. Much better, with the arrogance firming the word, making it disdainful and cold even though it wasn't cold or mean at all. Not really.

John shivered a little and thought about kneeling. "Sir, I -- " His mind went blank, frantically searching for something to ask Rodney. Some way to tell Rodney that this was okay, better than okay, and if he could just get over here and touch John... "I need your permission."

Rodney stood up, eyes darting to the open jumper hatch and back to John. His hands absently caressed the ZPM in a way that made John a little jealous. "Permission to what, Colonel?"

"To end my punishment, sir," John said. He had no idea if this was going to work. Hell, he wasn't sure Rodney was even going to understand, since this wasn't one of his more eloquent gambits.

But Rodney was moving closer, head tilted up and to the side in that _I'm thinking very deeply and enjoying it_ pose. "That's right," he mused. "It's my punishment to you, so I set the parameters."

And then Rodney had to ruin it all by looking nervous and anxious. John was ready to strangle him -- or go over there and rub off on Rodney's thigh, whether or not Rodney ordered it -- when some of that must have communicated itself to Rodney whose eyes suddenly went very, very wide.

"Oh," he said.

John licked his lips and gave Rodney a shy smile. "Yes, sir."

" _Oh_." Rodney set the ZPM down on the bench seat and motioned him over. "Come here."

John's breath got a little short even though the distance he closed was only a few steps. He felt hot and embarrassed all over, and that just seemed to make it better.

When he was standing right in front of Rodney, he bowed his head, then sneaked a glance up to catch Rodney's reaction.

"Attention," Rodney snapped, blunt and angry-sounding.

John immediately snapped to, back straight, saluting with a blank face staring a little above Rodney's ear.

"Right, okay, wrong one. You'd think I'd pay attention to all the orders you're always shouting about. Um. Parade rest?"

Keeping his smirk internal and ignoring the way he was still blushing, John shifted to a more relaxed stance, hands linked behind his back. That seemed to be what Rodney wanted because he nodded, gave John a look that was half-smirk, half-amazement -- and cupped John through his pants.

 _Oh_ , John thought, eyes sliding shut involuntarily.

Rodney chuckled. "Eyes open, Colonel. I want you to see this." He pushed and John went, not stopping -- or changing position -- until John was pressed up against the wall of the jumper. He could still hear everyone outside, growing restless and debating coming inside to ask what was taking so long -- Teyla, bless her, was still fielding each attempt and keeping everyone backed off. John was really going to have to speak to her later -- _much_ later.

Because Rodney was opening up John’s pants and drawing his very hard cock out into the open, stroking it lightly. "Still hard. You shouldn't be, you know. The ring won't force an erection, just ... " He stroked again, a little faster, rubbing his thumb against the wet tip. "Do you deserve this?" he asked John. "Do you deserve to have your punishment lifted?"

"Only if you think so, sir," John said, his voice a thready ghost of itself. He bit back a groan, not knowing if that was allowed or not. "Was I ... do you think I was good, sir?"

Rodney leaned close enough that his lips brushed the line of John's jaw. "I told you that you were a good boy, didn't I?"

John shivered, hard, and there was more fluid to collect on the next pass of Rodney's thumb. "Yes, sir," he said. "But that was for ... before."

"Yes, true." Rodney stroked just a little bit faster. "We don't have a lot of time, Colonel, not the way Zelenka's frothing to see if we really, truly have a ZedPM -- god, we have a _ZedPM_."

Any other time and John would have appreciated the blissed-out happiness on Rodney's face. Right then, he may have possibly growled just a little.

Rodney retaliated by squeezing until it almost hurt, making John gasp. "I keep telling you to be quiet," Rodney told him. "I don't know why this is so difficult for you. After all, usually you're telling _me_ that I should use _you_ as an example of silence."

By now, Rodney's hand was jerking him hard and fast, the best combination of heat and friction that left John desperately trying not to gasp or slump back against the wall, knees useless. The ring was tight and cold around his sac, biting into the base of his cock and yeah, okay, he could admit it. He moaned.

Rodney darted forward at the first low sound, swallowing the rest. "Quiet," he hissed. "Unless you really want Dr. Weir to know you like it hard and messy against the wall of the jumper. Or maybe you _do_. Does it get you off, knowing how close the others are, Colonel? Does it make it better for you?"

"Fuck," John gritted out. Rodney was asking him _questions_ , and all his mind could come out with was, "Please, sir. I need ..."

"I think that works as a 'yes'," Rodney said, smug and with a quaver that reinforced the growing thickness against John's thigh. "I'd never pegged you for dirty back alley sex, Colonel, but it suits you. You're very pretty like this."

John whined, head thumping back against the wall of the jumper as Rodney's tongue traced from collarbone to earlobe. He didn't care how pretty he was, except that if Rodney liked it, then it was good because then maybe Rodney would take the damned ring off and let him come.

"Not the location, sir," John whispered hoarsely. Fuck, that was all he could say, because his mouth wasn't working right to explain what he meant, but Rodney was a genius, he should be able to figure it out. Eventually.

Rodney was riding along his thigh, now, as interested as John, both of them panting noisily. "Oh, I think the location's doing _something_ ," Rodney said -- but the blue eyes that blinked up into his said that maybe he'd heard what John was trying to say.

And then it didn't matter: Rodney released his cock long enough to remove the ring, hand slick and heavy and warm as it closed back around him, a pink blur as he jacked him off. John gasped, head thumping into the wall again, nails digging bloody crescents into his palms.

John was biting his lip to keep from moaning too loudly, so hard he tasted blood welling up there. It was too much: the way Rodney was talking, the way his hand was moving, the hurried way they had to do it, the murmur of voices echoing in the bay. But still, he couldn't come, even as the need to _hurt_ so badly.

"Please, Rodney, please ..." he chanted, knowing Rodney had to do something more, had to _let_ him come.

"Supposed to call me 'sir'." Rodney's voice was as hoarse as John's was, rough with want and need. "Do it."

John struggled to translate the words into something that resembled sense, and changed his broken chant to, "Please, sir, please... "

"Good. Oh, god, you're so good -- come. I want to see you come."

 _Yes_ , John wanted to say but he couldn't: his body was locked up, rigid and unmoving except for his cock, throbbing unbearably before he finally started coming. He couldn't even react when Rodney kissed him -- fast, wet, sloppy and _perfect_ \-- just pulsed a third and final time.

His body unlocked slowly, each muscle dropping into euphoric relaxation until he was nearly sliding down the jumper wall. "Hey," Rodney snapped, carefully tilting his hand -- John had no recollection at all of him cupping it over John's dick, but it was clear he had -- and looking frantically for something to clean up with.

"Yes, sir?" John asked hesitantly, still breathless, still in absolute awe of what Rodney could do to him.

Rodney shot him an extremely grumpy look. "You can't pass out until after the debriefing and for god's sake find me something to clean this with!"

"Yessir," John said, running on autopilot. He dug up the emergency kit and used a bandage to clean up Rodney’s hand -- John did all of it, gently gripping Rodney's wrist to hold him still as he cleaned -- and stuffing it in his own bag when he couldn't find any place better. Zipping up and straightening himself, he tried to look Rodney in the eye. Tried.

"Oh, god. Look, yes, now we're even, can we _please_ just forget about this?" Rodney looked like he'd swallowed something extremely unpleasant, jittering in place. His eyes were on the ZPM again.

 _John nodded slowly. "Sure. Okay, no, I don't think so. Look, I'll go give Elizabeth a shortened version of what happened and you and Zelenka go play."_

 _"Yes, thank you, _finally_." Rodney took two steps towards the hatch before John's hand shot out, gripping his arm hard._

"But in exactly six hours, _Rodney_ , I'm coming to find you. I don't care what you're doing, but you will leave the lab, you will get something to eat that isn't power bars or coffee, shower, and if you don't argue a lot, I'll help you out with _that.”_

Rodney blinked, and it was like he was going into slow motion. Light bounced off absurdly long, pale lashes as they crept down to glance off Rodney's cheek before moving back up again. "You will? But why would you -- I mean, of course you will, you've been doing that for _weeks_ now, at least first two things and -- what?"

John grinned and didn't release Rodney's arm. "You _are_ aware you're hard?"

"I have a ZedPM," Rodney shot back, incredibly prim. "A mostly-full, functional ZedPM. It's not like it’s going to _surprise_ anyone."

John had to laugh, though he kept it quiet. "Of course not. But I'm sure it'd be better if you ordered me onto my knees again, holding me steady while you pushed in slow, and smooth and ..." He trailed off, grateful he wasn't twenty any longer, because watching Rodney just _breathe_ hard was doing all kinds of shivery things to him.

Rodney swallowed and his eyes shined a little brighter than normal. He clenched his teeth in an obvious effort to control himself, or keep himself somewhat removed from the conversation. John could tell he was affected by what he'd said, though, no matter how hard Rodney tried to hide it or lifted his chin in that defiant, cocky way of his.

"So this," Rodney made hand motions between the two of them, "is going to be a ... an ongoing ...?"

"Yes, it is." John knew better than to let Rodney overanalyze. For an incredibly arrogant man with ego to spare, Rodney had some real insecurities. "Six hours, Rodney, and I don't care if you're moments away from a breakthrough. Get me?"

Rodney met his gaze, eyes startling in the half-shadows of the jumper: blue like Atlantis' waters, blue like the sky John would never give up. "Yes," he said eventually. "I get you." Then he smirked. "I always knew you wanted to be ordered around."

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that part may not continue too much longer."

"Please, you totally got off on _all_ of that. And no, we will not try the other way since you order me around all the time _anyway_. Stop pouting, Colonel, it makes you look like you're two years old." The entire time he spoke, Rodney was walking down the ramp, cradling the ZPM and giving it an awed look.

John was pretty sure the awe was for more than just the ZPM.


End file.
